Colombian recipes

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Caldo de costilla

Bogotá wakes up to caldo de costilla. Cafeterías near markets and bus terminals ladle it out from early morning, and it is the city's famous cure after a late night: beef short ribs simmered until tender in a clear, golden broth with potatoes, onion, garlic and a big handful of coriander. It's simple, beefy and restoring, served with an arepa, a cup of hot chocolate or coffee and maybe a slice of bread. People are tempted to boil it hard to save time; the broth turns cloudy and greasy and the meat tightens, so give it a slow, steady simmer. Chef's tip: make the broth the night before and chill it; you can lift off the solid fat in the morning and simply reheat with the potatoes for a fast, clean breakfast.

105 min

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Mazamorra antioqueña

Paisas finish lunch with a glass of mazamorra the way others take dessert: soft, swollen kernels of hulled white corn in their own starchy cooking liquid, topped up with cold milk and eaten with a piece of panela or guava paste to nibble between sips. In Medellín it is sold from carts as well as made in big pots at home for the week, and it is mild, milky and quietly filling. Look for dried hulled white corn (maíz pilado or peto) in Latin American shops. Soak it overnight first. A common mistake is serving it before the corn is fully soft; the kernels should split open and be tender to the bite. Chef's tip: save the thick cooking liquid; it gives the drink its silky body, and the corn keeps in it for 4 days in the fridge.

180 min

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Merengón

Weekend drives out of Bogotá often end at a roadside sweet shop with a slice of merengón: two discs of crisp, chalky meringue sandwiched and piled with whipped cream and fruit. Strawberry is the classic in the highlands, while on the Caribbean coast soursop (guanábana) is just as popular. Think of it as Colombia's answer to pavlova, crunchier and sweeter, assembled shortly before eating so the meringue cracks under the spoon. The meringue needs a long, slow bake and a slow cool in the oven, so plan ahead. Humidity and undissolved sugar are the main enemies: if the sugar is not fully beaten in, the meringue weeps sticky syrup, so rub a little between your fingers and keep whisking until it feels smooth. For a soursop version, swap the strawberries for 300 g thawed soursop pulp, folded into half the cream. Chef's tip: assemble no more than an hour before serving, or the cream softens the meringue.

150 min

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Cortado de leche

On farms in Antioquia and Santander, when there was more milk than anyone could drink, it became cortado: milk deliberately split with lime juice, then simmered slowly with panela and spices until the curds turn tender and tan and the whey reduces into a thin, molasses-flavoured syrup. It is a country dessert, served warm or cold in small bowls after Sunday lunch, sometimes with a piece of white cheese on the side. The texture is somewhere between a soft ricotta and baked custard, sweet and lightly spiced with cinnamon and clove. Because lime does the curdling, there is no rennet involved. Stirring hard as soon as the lime goes in is the usual mistake; it breaks the curds into grainy specks, so let them form undisturbed and then move the pan gently. Chef's tip: use full-fat milk that is not ultra-heat-treated; UHT milk gives smaller, softer curds.

60 min

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Tungos

At fairs and family gatherings in Villavicencio and across the Meta, tungos sit in a big pile next to the slow-roasted meat: soft white rice pressed into banana-leaf parcels and steamed until it holds together in a firm, faintly smoky log. The leaf gives the rice a tea-like aroma and keeps it warm for hours, which is why they travel to river trips and roadside parrillas so well. Unwrap one and eat it with roast meat, beans, a sweet plantain or a bowl of vegetable stew; the tungo itself is vegan. Fluffy, separate grains are the wrong goal here: rice cooked dry and loose falls apart in the leaf, so cook it with extra water until soft and sticky. Frozen banana leaves are sold in Asian and Latin shops. Chef's tip: pass each leaf quickly over a gas flame or through hot water first; it turns glossy and supple and will not split as you fold.

60 min

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Bocadillo veleño

Vélez, a hill town in Santander, has given its name to Colombia's favourite sweet. Bocadillo veleño is guava pulp cooked down with panela and sugar until it sets into a firm, sliceable paste, deep red and fruity with a caramel edge, then cut into bars and wrapped in dried bijao leaves. It is the snack of bus journeys and school lunchboxes, and with a slice of fresh white cheese it becomes the classic pairing Colombians call a matrimonio. Plan for overnight setting. Stopping the cooking too early is the familiar mistake: the paste looks thick in the pan but stays soft and weeps once cool, so cook until it pulls away from the pan and a spoon drawn across the bottom leaves a clear track. Long sleeves are a good idea; it splutters. Bijao leaves are hard to find abroad; banana leaves or baking paper work. Chef's tip: use pink-fleshed guavas for colour, and add the lime early so the pectin sets firm.

150 min

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Panelitas

Small paper-wrapped panelitas are sold by the bagful at roadside sweet stalls through Santander, often next to obleas and bocadillo. They are milk boiled with sugar and panela until it becomes a thick caramel, then beaten off the heat until it loses its shine and sets into a soft, crumbly fudge with a warm cinnamon and molasses taste. Kids and grandparents both reach for them after lunch with a coffee. The batch here makes a tray of bite-sized squares that keep for a week. Most failures come from beating too little: the mixture stays glossy and never sets beyond soft arequipe, so keep going until it turns matte and starts to hold its shape. A pinch of bicarbonate of soda stops the milk from curdling as the panela heats. Chef's tip: lightly score the squares while the fudge is still warm, then cut through once cold, for neat edges.

45 min

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Quimbolitos

Southern Nariño shares the quimbolito with neighbouring Ecuador. In Pasto these small sweet cakes are steamed in achira leaves and eaten at the mid-afternoon onces with a cup of hot chocolate or coffee. The batter is a rich mix of butter, sugar, eggs, wheat and corn flours and fresh cheese, dotted with raisins; steaming makes it light and moist, closer to a sponge pudding than a cake, and the leaf adds a mild green scent. Some cooks add a splash of anise liqueur; this version uses vanilla and keeps it alcohol-free. Fresh cheese is often set with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) one if needed. Achira leaves are rare outside the Andes: banana-leaf pieces or squares of baking paper work. Overfilling is what usually goes wrong, as the batter rises and bursts the parcel, so fill each leaf only halfway. Chef's tip: keep the water at a steady simmer, never a rolling boil, so the cakes rise evenly and stay dry.

65 min

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Helado de paila

Watching helado de paila being made is half the pleasure. In Pasto and Ipiales, and over the border in Ecuador, a wide copper or steel pan (the paila) spins on a bed of ice and salt in a straw-lined barrel, while the maker scrapes the fruit juice from the sides with a wooden paddle until it turns into a light, intensely fruity sorbet. Mora, lulo and naranjilla are the favourite flavours. At home a wide steel bowl sitting in a larger bowl of salted ice does the same job, and the hand-churning takes about 30 minutes, so get everyone to take turns. The base must be cold before it goes into the bowl; a warm base never freezes properly and turns into slush. Andean blackberries are tart and bright; ordinary blackberries with extra lime work. Chef's tip: keep scraping the frozen layer off the sides and folding it in, every 20–30 seconds; that motion is what makes the texture smooth.

60 min

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Empanadas de pipián

Popayán, the white colonial city of the Cauca, is proud of its tiny empanadas de pipián, fried by the dozen at market stalls and around the Holy Week processions. The filling, pipián, is a stew of small potatoes coloured with achiote and enriched with ground roasted peanuts, so each bite is crisp corn shell, then soft, nutty, savoury potato. They always come with ají de maní, a loose peanut and chilli sauce spooned into the open end. Many households add chopped hard-boiled egg to the pipián; this version leaves it out and is fully vegan. A wet filling is the classic error, as it steams inside and bursts the dough in the oil, so cook the pipián until thick and let it cool before filling. Chef's tip: shape the empanadas on a sheet of plastic cut from a freezer bag; the thin corn dough lifts off cleanly and seals without cracking.

90 min

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Carantantas

Carantantas started as a thrifty by-product: the thin layer of corn dough that stuck to the bottom of the big pans in Popayán's masa kitchens, scraped off, dried and sold as golden shards. Today they are a cheap, crunchy snack sold in bags at Cauca markets, eaten with ají or broken into a sopa de carantantas. At home you can make them by spreading a thin layer of corn dough on a hot, dry pan, letting it toast into a crust, then frying or crisping the pieces. They taste of toasted corn, nutty and lightly salty, a little like the crunchy bits of a tortilla. Spreading the dough too thickly is where it goes wrong, giving leathery, chewy pieces instead of crisp ones; aim for a layer no thicker than a coin. Chef's tip: a non-stick or well-seasoned cast-iron pan lets the crust lift in large sheets; wait until the edges curl before scraping.

30 min

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Melcochas

Pulling melcocha is a spectacle at roadside stalls in panela country, around Villeta in Cundinamarca and the Santander highlands. A syrup of panela is boiled until thick, cooled just enough to handle, then stretched, folded and stretched again until it turns from dark brown to a pale, satiny gold and becomes chewy. It is twisted into ropes and cut into pieces that taste of caramel and molasses. Kids and adults both buy it in little bags, and it makes a fun kitchen project for a group. Getting the timing wrong is the usual mistake: too hot and it burns your hands and sticks, too cold and it snaps instead of stretching. Work when it feels like warm putty. The syrup is dangerously hot, so keep children well back until it has cooled. Chef's tip: a sugar thermometer takes the guesswork out; take the syrup off at 125 °C for a chewy result.

45 min

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Jugo de tomate de árbol

Tomate de árbol, the tree tomato or tamarillo, is everywhere in Andean Colombia: in market piles, in ají and above all in juice. Blended with water and sugar, it makes a tangy, deep orange drink with a flavour between passion fruit, tomato and apricot, and it turns up at lunch counters and family tables with almost every meal. Many people blend it with milk instead of water for a creamier glass; this version keeps it vegan. Blending the fruit with its skin is the most common misstep, as the peel is bitter and astringent; a quick blanch makes it slip off easily. Look for tamarillos in good greengrocers, or frozen pulp in Latin shops. Chef's tip: blend only briefly so you do not crush the small seeds, then strain; it stays bright and clean-tasting.

15 min

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Jugo de maracuyá

Passion fruit grows easily in the warm valleys of Colombia, and maracuyá juice is the default glass at many lunch tables, from Huila to the coast. It is intensely aromatic and sharp, so it needs plenty of water and sugar, and it is served over ice; a milk version is made too, but the water one is the more refreshing. Street juice stands blend it fresh all day, and it pairs especially well with fried fish, rice and patacones, or any spicy dish. People tend to over-blend it, crushing the black seeds into gritty, bitter bits; just pulse until the pulp lets go of the seeds, then strain. Frozen passion fruit pulp from Latin shops is a good, cheaper option and needs no straining. Chef's tip: scoop the pulp from wrinkled, heavy fruit; the more wrinkled the skin, the sweeter and more fragrant the fruit inside.

10 min

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Postre de guanábana

Soursop has a perfume all its own, somewhere between pineapple, banana and citrus, with a creamy white flesh, and Colombians turn it into this no-bake fridge dessert for birthdays, Sunday lunches and Christmas tables. Soursop pulp is blended with condensed milk and lime, then folded through whipped cream and chilled until it sets into a light, mousse-like cream that is sweet, tangy and fragrant. It is served in glasses or one big dish, sometimes with crumbled biscuits on top; leave them out to keep it gluten free. Frozen soursop pulp is sold in Latin American shops and is easier than fresh fruit. If you start from a whole fruit, the error people make is blending the seeds, which are inedible and add bitterness; pick every one out by hand. Plan for at least 4 hours of chilling. Chef's tip: keep back a few spoonfuls of pulp and swirl them over the top just before serving for a sharper finish.

20 min

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Roscón

Every Bogotá bakery has a tray of roscones by the counter: soft, enriched bread rings glazed and sprinkled with sugar, hiding a seam of melted guava paste inside. They are eaten at onces, the afternoon coffee break, or for breakfast with hot chocolate, and they are a favourite thing to bring when visiting. The dough is a gently sweet milk-and-butter bread, close to a brioche but lighter. Chunks of guava paste that are too big are what normally goes wrong: they melt, burst the seam and burn on the tray, so cut it into thin batons and seal the dough firmly around them. Plan about 2 hours, most of it rising time. Look for guava paste (bocadillo or goiabada) in Latin shops; quince paste works in a pinch. Chef's tip: brush with the egg wash twice, once before the second rise and once before baking, for a deep, shiny crust that holds the sugar.

145 min

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Avena colombiana

Bakeries all over Colombia keep a fridge of avena in plastic cups, ready to pair with a warm pandebono, buñuelo or almojábana. It is a thick, sweet oat drink cooked in milk with cinnamon and cloves, then blended smooth and chilled until it is creamy and spoonable, somewhere between a milkshake and rice pudding. Children drink it after school, and it is a common mid-morning snack with something baked. Home versions are less sweet and more spiced than shop ones. The thing to watch is texture: if you skip blending or straining, you end up with slimy flecks of oats, so blend thoroughly once it is cooked. It thickens a lot as it chills, so loosen it with cold milk before serving. Chef's tip: toast the oats in the dry pan for 2 minutes first; it gives a nutty, biscuity flavour.

25 min

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Kumis

Kumis in Colombia is a thick, sweetened fermented milk, nothing like the Central Asian mare's-milk drink of the same name. Bakeries and cafeterias sell it chilled in glasses with a slice of plain sponge cake, the classic kumis con ponqué, and many families still make it at home. It is cool, tangy and creamy, somewhere between drinking yogurt and buttermilk. Use only pasteurised milk, heat it first, and work with very clean equipment: wash jars and spoons in hot soapy water and scald them with boiling water. The milk ferments at room temperature (20–28 °C, out of direct sun) for 12–24 hours, then goes into the fridge; never leave it out longer. Discard any batch with mould, pink or orange patches, or a rotten rather than sour smell. Adding the starter to milk that is still too hot is the common slip, as heat kills the cultures and nothing sets. Chef's tip: add the sugar after fermenting, then chill well before serving.

30 min

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Jugo de mora

Order a juice anywhere in Colombia and the waiter will ask: en agua o en leche? With mora, the tart Andean blackberry, the milk version is the treat: a thick, dusky-purple shake with a sour-sweet berry flavour, served with lunch at corrientazo restaurants and in tall glasses at bakeries. Mora de Castilla is longer and sharper than European blackberries and is sold frozen in Latin shops; ordinary blackberries with a squeeze of lime make a good stand-in. Straining is what makes it smooth, since the seeds are gritty. The mistake many people make is blending the berries with the milk and leaving it to stand: the fruit acid slowly curdles the milk, so blend the fruit with water first, strain, then add cold milk and serve straight away. Chef's tip: very cold milk and a few ice cubes keep the drink thick and frothy.

10 min

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Limonada de coco

Cartagena's heat makes limonada de coco almost compulsory: beach kiosks and restaurants in the old walled city blend it to order, and it arrives as a pale, frosty slush, sharp with lime and rich with coconut. It is a drink to sip slowly with fried fish, coconut rice and patacones, or on its own on a hot afternoon. Coconut cream gives the body, sugar balances the lime, and a full load of ice gives the frozen texture. The common slip is blending lime pieces with their peel for too long, which turns it bitter within minutes; use juice plus a little zest instead. Shake the tin of coconut cream before measuring, since it separates. Serve it straight away, before it melts and separates. Chef's tip: freeze some of the coconut cream in an ice-cube tray beforehand and use it in place of half the ice for a thicker, creamier result.

10 min

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Jugo de corozo

Corozo is a tiny, glossy red-black palm fruit that grows wild across Colombia's Caribbean lowlands, and in Sincelejo, Montería and Cartagena it is boiled into a deep wine-red juice that is tart, slightly bitter and very refreshing. It is sold in bags from street coolers and served with lunch at home, especially in the dry season when the fruit is plentiful. The fruit is mostly stone and skin, so it is boiled to release the colour and flavour, then mashed and strained. Blending the whole fruit is the trap here: the hard stones can break a blender and add bitterness, so only mash them. Frozen corozo pulp is sold in some Latin shops; there is no true substitute, but tart cherry juice with a squeeze of lime gives a similar colour and sourness. Chef's tip: dissolve the sugar while the juice is still warm, then chill well; it tastes sharper and brighter cold.

35 min

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Chocolate santafereño

Old Bogotá, once Santafé, built an afternoon ritual around hot chocolate. In the café-restaurants of La Candelaria it comes in a big cup, frothed with a wooden molinillo, with a plate of white cheese, almojábanas and buttered bread on the side. The surprise for visitors is the cheese: cubes go straight into the hot chocolate, softening into stretchy strings that are fished out with a spoon, a salty contrast to the sweet, spiced drink. Colombian table chocolate comes in bars already sweetened and often flavoured with cinnamon and clove; dark chocolate plus sugar and spice is a fair swap. The usual cheese, queso campesino or doble crema, is normally set with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) mozzarella-style cheese. Boiling the chocolate hard is the misstep that makes it grainy and scorched; keep it at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: no molinillo? Whisk briskly with a balloon whisk or a milk frother until there's a thick foam.

15 min

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Bizcochos de achira

Achira is a canna plant whose root gives a fine, silky starch, and in Huila and Tolima it becomes bizcochos: crunchy, cheesy little sticks and rings that dissolve on the tongue. They are sold in long plastic bags at roadside stands near Neiva, Altamira and the Magdalena valley, and they travel everywhere as a snack with coffee or a cold drink. Look for achira flour in Colombian shops; arrowroot powder is the nearest substitute, while tapioca starch gives a chewier result. The cheese is traditionally a dry, aged curd made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian hard cheese. The usual mistake is pulling them from the oven too early: they look done but go soft as they cool. Chef's tip: bake them right through until dry and only lightly coloured; they should snap cleanly once cold.

55 min

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Postre de natas

Postre de natas comes from colonial Santa Fe de Bogotá, when farm milk was boiled every day and the thick skins (natas) that formed on top were saved rather than wasted. Today it is a dessert for Christmas and family gatherings: soft, creamy ribbons of milk skin in a pale golden, cinnamon-scented custard dotted with raisins, served cold in small bowls. It takes patience rather than skill. Use full-fat, ideally non-homogenised milk, which forms thicker skins. Stirring the milk while the natas form is the common slip: it breaks them up so nothing can be lifted off. Older recipes add a splash of brandy or sherry; this one leaves it out. Chef's tip: lift each skin with a slotted spoon into a bowl and keep going; the more natas you collect, the more texture the dessert has. Chill for at least 4 hours before serving.

120 min

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Cuajada con melao

Simplicity is the charm of this Andean dessert: a slab of fresh, milky cuajada, barely salted, with a dark syrup of panela poured over it, still warm. Highland fondas between Bogotá and Boyacá serve it after a lunch of ajiaco or sancocho, and the contrast of cool, squeaky curd with molasses-deep, spiced syrup is the point. Cuajada is set with rennet, traditionally animal; buy a vegetarian curd or fresh ricotta-style cheese, or make cuajada at home with microbial rennet. Panela is unrefined cane sugar; dark muscovado is the closest swap. The mistake is boiling the syrup too long: it turns to toffee as soon as it meets the cold cheese. Take it off when it coats a spoon thinly. Chef's tip: a strip of lime zest in the syrup cuts the sweetness beautifully.

20 min

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Mazorca desgranada

Food trucks and street corners in Bogotá and Medellín sell mazorca desgranada in plastic tubs, late into the evening: sweet corn kernels cut off the cob, fried in butter and layered with shredded chicken, melted cheese, crunchy potato sticks, pineapple sauce and salsa rosada. Some stands add bacon, beef or quail eggs; this version keeps to chicken. It is sweet, salty and gooey, and a hit with teenagers. Using tinned corn without draining it well is a common error: the water dilutes the sauces and the tub gets soggy. Chef's tip: fry the corn until a few kernels brown and pop; that caramelised edge stands up to all the sweet sauces. For a vegetarian tub, skip the chicken and use a cheese made with microbial rennet.

35 min

Colombian Fast Food

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Arepa paisa

Antioquia eats arepas the way other places eat bread: a thin, pale disc of white corn sits beside the eggs at breakfast, the bandeja paisa at lunch and the hot chocolate at night. The paisa arepa is deliberately plain, with no salt, cheese or butter in the dough, so it frames whatever comes with it; locals spread it with butter or a slice of quesito at the table. It is chewy and soft inside with a toasted, freckled skin. Traditionally it is made from boiled, ground pilado corn; precooked white corn meal (masarepa) makes an excellent home version. The mistake is a dry dough: the edges crack and the arepas turn hard. Chef's tip: knead in warm water until the dough feels like soft play dough, and rest it 5 minutes before shaping.

40 min

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Papas chorreadas

Chorreadas means drenched, and that is the idea: in farmhouse kitchens of Boyacá and Cundinamarca, whole boiled potatoes get a hot, loose sauce of tomato and long spring onion poured over them, enriched with milk and stretchy fresh cheese. It is comfort food from the cold highlands, served beside grilled meat on Sundays or on its own with an arepa and a mug of aguapanela on a weeknight. Colombians use queso campesino or doble crema, both usually made with animal rennet; a vegetarian mozzarella or other microbial-rennet melting cheese works perfectly. The mistake to avoid is adding the cheese to a boiling sauce, which makes it split and turn stringy; keep the heat low. Chef's tip: let the tomato and onion cook until really soft and jammy before the milk goes in, so the sauce tastes sweet and deep rather than raw.

40 min

Colombian Sides

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Papas criollas fritas

Little golden papas criollas are the potato Bogotá loves best: thin-skinned, buttery-yellow and so creamy they almost melt. At the asaderos along the roads out of the capital, and next to every plate of ajiaco or fritanga, they come fried whole, skin on, crackling outside and soft in the middle, with nothing but salt and a bowl of ají. Frozen papas criollas are sold in Latin American shops; otherwise use the smallest waxy yellow potatoes you can find. Frying them raw is the usual mistake: the skins brown before the insides are cooked. A quick boil first fixes that. Chef's tip: let the boiled potatoes steam dry for a few minutes and squash a few slightly with your palm before frying, so the split skins catch extra crunch.

30 min

Colombian Sides

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Envueltos de mazorca

When the maize ripens in the fields of Boyacá, families grind the fresh kernels and steam little husk-wrapped parcels that are sold at Sunday markets in Tunja, Paipa and Duitama. Envueltos are soft, moist and gently sweet, somewhere between a tamal and a corn pudding, with pockets of melted cheese, and they are eaten for breakfast or as an onces snack with hot chocolate or coffee. Use fresh corn on the cob; the starchier, less sugary types are closest to Colombian maíz, and frozen kernels work at a pinch. Fresh campesino cheese is usually made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian one. The commonest fault is wrapping the parcels loosely, so water gets in and they turn soggy. Chef's tip: grind the corn coarsely, not to a purée; a little texture lets the envueltos set firm and sliceable.

80 min

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Arepas boyacenses

Roadside stalls on the highway from Bogotá to Tunja sell these golden, puffed discs straight off the griddle. Unlike the plain arepas of Antioquia, the boyacense mixes yellow corn with wheat flour, butter and a little sugar, and it hides a layer of fresh cheese that melts as it cooks, so each bite is sweet, salty and buttery at once. Eat them warm with coffee, hot chocolate or a cup of aguapanela. Queso campesino or cuajada is traditionally set with animal rennet; choose a vegetarian mozzarella or other microbial-rennet fresh cheese. The trap is cooking them on a high heat: the sugar browns fast and the middle stays raw and doughy. Chef's tip: keep the griddle at low-medium and give them time; a slow cook gives a thin crisp crust and lets the cheese melt fully.

45 min

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Sudado de pollo

Any corrientazo (set-lunch place) in Medellín will have a sudado on the menu on weekdays, and it is just as common at home on a busy Tuesday: chicken pieces cooked in a closed pot with tomato, onion and potatoes until they release their own juices and turn into a thin, savoury, reddish sauce. No stock, no water to speak of, just patience and a tight lid. The meat goes tender and soaks up the cumin and garlic; the potatoes thicken the sauce at the end. It belongs next to white rice, a few slices of avocado and maybe a ripe plantain. The thing people get wrong is lifting the lid over and over: every look lets out the steam that does the cooking. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken with the garlic, cumin and salt in the fridge for 30 minutes to an hour first; the seasoning goes deeper and the sauce tastes richer.

60 min

Colombian Chicken

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Chorizo santarrosano

Santa Rosa de Cabal, on the road to the hot springs in Risaralda, is lined with grills where thin, tightly linked pork chorizos sizzle over charcoal and are sold with a small white arepa and half a lime. They are leaner and finer than Spanish chorizo, with no paprika: just pork, a little fat, spring onion, garlic, cumin and a touch of coriander, so they taste fresh and herby, with a smoky edge from the coals. Squeeze over the lime, wrap a piece in the arepa and eat it standing up. Making them at home needs natural casings and a sausage stuffer or a piping bag, and a night in the fridge for the flavours to settle. Overstuffing is the classic problem: tight casings burst on the grill, so fill them firmly but leave a little give. Chef's tip: keep the meat and fat very cold, even half-frozen, while you mince and mix; warm fat smears and the sausages turn crumbly instead of juicy.

85 min

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Arroz atollado

Cali's cooks say the rice should be 'atollado', stuck in the mud: wet, creamy and spoonable, somewhere between a risotto and a thick soup. It is the Valle del Cauca's Sunday and paseo dish, cooked in a big pot by the river or for a crowd at home, with chicken, pork, Colombian chorizo and two kinds of potato all simmered into the rice, the whole thing coloured orange-gold with achiote. The papa criolla melts and gives the body; the meats give a deep, porky savour. Serve it straight from the pot with ripe avocado, fried plantain and a squeeze of lime, and don't wait: it keeps thickening as it stands. People often rinse the rice or use long-grain, which gives separate grains; medium-grain, unrinsed, keeps it creamy. Chef's tip: hold back a ladle of hot stock and stir it in just before serving to bring the rice back to that loose, muddy consistency.

80 min

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Marranitas

Breakfast stalls along Cali's busy streets and the bakeries of the Valle del Cauca fry marranitas all morning: green plantain, half-fried, pounded while hot and shaped around a nugget of crunchy pork chicharrón, then fried again until crisp and golden. The name means 'little piglets', after the pork inside. The outside shatters, the plantain layer is dense and starchy and the crackling gives a salty, porky crunch in the middle. Eat them hot with a mug of coffee or hot chocolate, or as a snack with ají and hogao for dipping. The plantains must be truly green and hard; yellowing ones turn sweet and sticky and won't hold a crisp shell. Chef's tip: pound the plantain the moment it comes out of the first fry, using a little warm salted water on your hands; once it cools it stiffens and cracks when you shape it.

70 min

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Butifarra soledeña

Around Barranquilla, the street call of 'butifarra, butifarra' comes from vendors pushing carts out of Soledad, the town that made these little sausages famous; there's even a festival for them every July. They are small, round links of beef and pork seasoned with nothing more than salt and plenty of black pepper, boiled rather than grilled, so they stay tender, juicy and pale. Sellers squeeze lime over them and hand them out with a bollo de yuca, a firm steamed cassava roll. They are simple, peppery and a little sour from the lime. Using lean meat is the usual mistake: without the pork fat they turn dry and grainy. Chef's tip: tie the links into small, round balls about 4 cm across and boil them gently; a rolling boil splits the casings.

105 min

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Arroz de lisa

Carnival in Barranquilla isn't complete without a plate of arroz de lisa, and the market at Barranquillita and the old neighbourhoods around it sell it every day: salted, dried mullet from the Ciénaga Grande, soaked, shredded and cooked into rice with sweet peppers, onion, tomato and achiote. The rice comes out loose, orange and deeply savoury, with flakes of fish all the way through. It is served with bollo de yuca, fried ripe plantain or a simple tomato and onion salad. Plan ahead: the salted fish needs a day's soaking in the fridge. Skipping enough soaking is the usual downfall; the rice ends up far too salty, so taste a flake of the fish before you cook and keep soaking if it is still sharp. Chef's tip: if you can't find salted mullet, salt cod from any fishmonger works well, and use the poaching water for the rice only after tasting it.

85 min

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Mojarra frita

On the beaches of Bocagrande and in the open-air kitchens of La Boquilla outside Cartagena, the lunch plate is a whole mojarra (tilapia) fried until its fins crackle, served with coconut rice, smashed green plantain patacones and a tomato and onion salad with lime. The skin goes shatteringly crisp, the flesh stays sweet and moist, and you eat it with your fingers, pulling meat off the bone. Scoring the sides lets the heat and seasoning reach the thick part near the spine. The mistake to avoid is putting a wet fish into the oil, which spits dangerously and leaves the skin soggy: pat it very dry and dust it lightly. Chef's tip: fry one fish at a time in plenty of oil and don't move it for the first 4 minutes, so the skin sets before you turn it. Serve with arroz con coco for the full Caribbean plate.

50 min

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Rondón

The English-speaking Raizal islanders of San Andrés and Providencia call it rundown, and it is cooked for a crowd on weekends and at beach gatherings: coconut milk boiled down until it 'runs down' and starts to release its oil, with cassava, green plantain, breadfruit or sweet potato, flour dumplings, salted pig tail and, on top, fish and conch steamed in the creamy broth. Pork appears as the salted tail, which seasons the pot. The broth is rich, coconut-sweet and herby with thyme, with a perfume of whole Scotch bonnet that gives aroma rather than fire as long as it doesn't burst. Start the day before: the pig tail needs overnight soaking. A common mistake is stirring once the fish goes in, which breaks it up; layer it and let the steam do the work. Chef's tip: queen conch is protected in much of the Caribbean, so buy only legally sourced frozen conch, or swap in large raw prawns added with the fish.

130 min

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Encocado de pescado

Fishing towns of the Colombian Pacific, from Buenaventura's Pueblo Nuevo market to the stilt houses of Tumaco, cook their catch in coconut milk scraped from fresh coconuts, with a refrito of onion, peppers and garlic and the coast's wild herbs: chillangua (culantro), poleo and oregano cimarrón. Encocado is lighter and more herbal than many coconut stews, mild rather than hot, with the fish just cooked in a creamy, pale-orange sauce. It is eaten at lunch with white or coconut rice and patacones or boiled green plantain. Boiling the coconut milk hard after the fish goes in is the classic error: the sauce splits and the fillets toughen, so keep it at a gentle bubble. Chef's tip: culantro (sawtooth coriander) is sold in Asian and Caribbean shops; if you can't find it, use twice the amount of ordinary coriander plus a few mint leaves to stand in for poleo.

50 min

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Tapao de pescado

Quibdó's riverside kitchens and the villages along the Atrato and Baudó rivers make tapao, which simply means 'covered': fish and chunks of green plantain cooked in a little water and a refrito of onion, tomato and herbs, with the pot sealed under a plantain leaf and a lid so it all cooks in its own steam. There's no coconut, unlike the Pacific's encocados, so it tastes clean and brothy, of fish and herbs, with the plantain soaking up the juices and thickening them slightly. It's a weekday dish, often made with bocachico or other river fish, and eaten from deep plates with a spoon and fingers. Adding the fish with the plantain from the start is a common slip; the plantain needs a head start or the fish falls apart before the plantain is tender. Chef's tip: if you can find bocachico or another river fish, use it; otherwise sea bream or tilapia steaks with the bone in give the broth the best flavour.

55 min

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Pusandao

Down the Nariño coast, in Tumaco and the river villages towards Ecuador, pusandao is everyday food built from what keeps: salted fish (or salted pork), green plantain, potato and the milk of fresh coconuts. The fish is soaked to draw out the salt, then simmered with the vegetables in a thin coconut broth scented with chillangua, the coast's culantro. Plantain and potato soften and thicken the liquid into something soupy and comforting, salty-sweet and gently herbal; it is eaten for lunch with a squeeze of lime and nothing else needed. Plan on an overnight soak for the fish. The pitfall is boiling the coconut milk from the start, which makes it greasy and grainy; cook the plantain in water first and add the coconut milk for the last few minutes. Chef's tip: salt cod is the easiest substitute for the coast's salted fish; for the pork version, use salted pork ribs soaked overnight and boiled until tender before adding the plantain.

70 min

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Arroz con piangua

The women of Tumaco and the Nariño mangroves wade out at low tide to gather piangua, a dark-shelled ark clam that lives in the roots, and much of the catch ends up in this rice: the clam meat chopped and cooked with coconut milk, a refrito of onion and peppers, and the Pacific's chillangua and oregano. It is rich, briny and creamy, with the clams' strong, almost iron-like sea flavour carrying through every grain. Locals eat it as a lunch main with patacones and a little salad. Outside Colombia, look for frozen piangua meat in Ecuadorian or Colombian shops, or use fresh clams or cockles in the shell. Before cooking, throw away any clam with a cracked shell or one that stays open when tapped; after steaming, discard any that stay shut. Overcooking the clam meat is the usual error, as it turns rubbery, so stir it in only for the last minutes. Chef's tip: strain the clam cooking liquid through a cloth or coffee filter to catch the grit, then use it in the rice; that's where the flavour is.

70 min

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Mamona

Cattle ranches of Meta and Casanare celebrate with mamona: a young steer cut into huge traditional pieces (rib slab, flank, shoulder) threaded on long wooden stakes and leaned around a wood fire for five hours or more, seasoned with nothing but coarse salt. The Villavicencio restaurants that specialise in it serve the meat with cassava, small boiled potatoes, plantain and ají, and some cooks splash beer over it, which you can skip. The beef ends up smoky and dripping on the inside with a salty, crusty bark. This home version uses a covered kettle barbecue with indirect heat, a whole slab of short ribs and a thick piece of flank. The usual blunder is putting the meat right over the coals; mamona cooks beside the fire, never over it. Chef's tip: let the salt sit on the meat in the fridge for a few hours before cooking; it seasons deeper and helps the crust form.

290 min

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Cachama frita

Roadside restaurants on the way from Bogotá down to Villavicencio and Restrepo sell cachama by the hundred at weekends: a farmed river fish of the Orinoco basin (the same family as pacu), opened out like a book, seasoned with garlic, cumin and lime and fried until the edges turn to crisp, salty lace. Its flesh is firm, fatty and sweet, and the rib bones, fried crisp, are half the pleasure. It comes with boiled cassava, ripe plantain tajadas and a little tomato salad. Outside Colombia, look for frozen whole pacu or cachama in Latin or Asian shops; otherwise use pompano or a large sea bream. A soggy, greasy fish usually means the oil wasn't hot enough; keep it at 180 °C and fry one at a time. Chef's tip: score the thick side of the fillet in a fine crosshatch down to the bones; the fine intramuscular bones fry crisp and the heat reaches the thickest part.

50 min

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Mute santandereano

Bucaramanga's Mercado Central and the Sunday family tables of Santander serve mute, a big, thick soup that takes most of a day: hominy corn, honeycomb beef tripe and pork ribs, plus red beans, potatoes, pumpkin, cabbage and a handful of short pasta, all simmered until thick, rich and savoury. It is filling enough to be lunch on its own, eaten with avocado, ají and a piece of arepa. The tripe must be bought cleaned and bleached from the butcher and then simmered for two hours until tender; undercooked tripe is the most common complaint, as it stays chewy and tastes strong. This version uses cooked or tinned hominy and beans to save the overnight soaking. Chef's tip: rub the tripe with lime and salt and rinse it twice before cooking; it removes any farmyard smell and keeps the broth clean-tasting.

240 min

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Pepitoria

Santander's famous plate of cabrito (roast kid goat), sold in Bucaramanga, Barichara and the canyon towns, always comes with pepitoria next to it: rice cooked with the kid's chopped heart, liver and kidneys, a refrito of onion and tomato, and blood, which turns it a deep reddish-brown and gives it a rich, mineral flavour, a little like a soft black pudding. It's a dish that uses the whole animal, and it is worth trying if you like morcilla. Ask a halal, Caribbean or specialist butcher for very fresh goat offal and fresh blood (pig blood works if goat isn't available); keep both cold and cook them the same day. Offal must be cooked right through, and the blood until it has set and darkened with no liquid red left. The usual misstep is adding the blood too early, so that it scorches on the bottom; it goes in when the rice is nearly done. Chef's tip: if blood is impossible to find, double the offal and add 1 tsp extra achiote; you'll get a lighter but still very good rice.

110 min

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Carne oreada

Before refrigerators, Santander cooks preserved beef by marinating thin sheets of it with panela, salt, garlic and cumin and hanging it in the sun and breeze until the surface dried. Carne oreada is still sold in the markets of Bucaramanga and San Gil, and grilled at home or in asaderos with arepa santandereana, cassava and guacamole. The meat comes out chewy-tender with a sweet, salty, caramelised edge and a concentrated, almost cured beef flavour. Sun-drying isn't safe in most home settings, so this version dries the meat on a rack uncovered in the fridge for 1–2 days, which gives the same firm, dark surface. Grilling it too long is the frequent fault, as the thin meat goes leathery; it needs only a few minutes a side over high heat. Chef's tip: some cooks splash a little beer into the marinade, but orange juice gives a similar tang without alcohol.

35 min

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Arepa santandereana

Bakeries and breakfast counters in Bucaramanga and Socorro sell a different kind of arepa from the soft white rounds of Bogotá: yellow, made with corn and cassava and studded with bits of crunchy pork chicharrón, cooked slowly on a griddle until a thick, chewy crust forms. The traditional dough is ground from cooked dry corn, but precooked yellow maize flour with mashed cassava gets you close at home. It is savoury and a little smoky, and goes with eggs and hot chocolate at breakfast or with carne oreada at lunch. Dough that's too dry is the common fault: it cracks around the edges as it cooks, so knead in water until it feels like soft play dough. Chef's tip: cook the arepas slowly over a medium-low heat; the cassava needs time to turn chewy inside while the outside builds a golden crust.

80 min

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Frito pastuso

In Pasto and the high Nariño towns close to Ecuador, frito pastuso is a weekend plate found at market counters and family lunches: chunks of pork leg simmered with garlic and cumin until the water evaporates, then fried in their own fat until browned and crisp at the edges, served with small boiled yellow potatoes, mote (white hominy), toasted corn and a smooth ají de maní, the region's peanut and chilli sauce. The pork is salty and crusty, the potatoes soft, and the peanut sauce brings a gentle heat. Contains peanuts. The mistake people make is cutting the pork too small, so it dries out before it browns; keep the chunks generous, about 4 cm. Chef's tip: marinate the pork overnight in the fridge; the garlic and cumin get right into the meat and the fried edges caramelise better.

90 min

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Salchipapa

Late at night outside the bars and football stadiums of Bogotá and Medellín, carts and fast-food counters sell salchipapa by the plastic tray: hot chips topped with fried slices of hot dog sausage, drowned in salsa rosada (ketchup mixed with mayonnaise), mustard and grated cheese, sometimes with a squirt of pineapple sauce. Kids love it, and it's an easy Friday-night dinner at home: salty, crisp and soft at once, with the sweet-tangy pink sauce tying everything together. The way it goes wrong is soggy fries; double frying keeps them crisp under all that sauce. Chef's tip: slice the sausages on the diagonal and fry them until they curl and blister at the edges; the crisp bits make the dish.

45 min

Colombian Fast Food

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Perro caliente

Bogotá's hot-dog stands near the universities and in the Zona Rosa take the frankfurter and keep going: melted cheese, a sticky pineapple sauce, salsa rosada, mustard, a mound of crushed potato crisps and, on top, a couple of boiled quail eggs on a toothpick. It's sweet, salty, creamy and crunchy in every bite, and it is very much a hold-it-over-the-napkin snack. Kids are usually the first in line. Adding the crisps too early is the classic mistake; they go soft under the sauces, so they are the very last thing on. Chef's tip: make the quick pineapple sauce while the eggs boil; fresh pineapple cooked down with a little sugar tastes much brighter than bottled.

25 min

Colombian Fast Food

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Esponjado de curuba

Grandmothers' kitchens and old cafés of Bogotá and Boyacá have kept the esponjado alive: a pale, airy, sweet-sour mousse made with curuba, the long, soft-skinned banana passionfruit of the cold Andes, set with gelatin and sweetened with condensed milk. It is served chilled in glasses after Sunday lunch, light and tangy, perfumed like passionfruit but softer. Because it contains gelatin, it is not vegetarian; for a vegetarian version, set it with 2 tsp agar powder boiled for 2 minutes in the curuba juice. Older recipes fold in raw whipped egg whites; this one uses whipped cream instead, so there is no raw egg. The common problem is folding cream into gelatin that's too warm or too set: it should be cool and just thickening, like unbeaten egg white. Chef's tip: frozen curuba pulp is sold in Latin shops; if you can't find it, use passionfruit pulp with a squeeze of lime. Allow at least 4 hours for it to set.

30 min

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Garullas

Sugamuxi province, around Sogamoso and Tibasosa in Boyacá, is garulla country: bakeries and home ovens turn out these rings and rolls of rich, buttery dough kneaded with fresh curd cheese. They are slightly sweet, dense and crumbly, with a golden top, and they keep well for a few days, which is why they travel in bags back to Bogotá after weekend trips. Have them with a hot black coffee or hot chocolate at onces time. Cuajada is curd set with rennet, usually animal; a vegetarian ricotta or curd works. Overworking the dough is the usual error and gives tough, chewy garullas; knead only until it comes together. Chef's tip: squeeze the cuajada in a cloth to remove as much whey as you can before you start; wet curd makes the dough sticky and the rings spread flat.

50 min

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Cholado

On a hot afternoon in Jamundí, just south of Cali, the stalls along the road to the river build cholados in tall plastic cups: a base of shaved ice drenched in bright fruit syrups, layers of chopped mango, papaya, pineapple, banana and strawberries, then a ribbon of condensed milk and a shower of coconut. It is half drink, half dessert, eaten with a long spoon as the ice melts into fruity, creamy slush. Children love it, and it is quick to build at home. The commonest mistake is shaving the ice too early; it melts into water before you finish assembling, so crush it at the last moment. Chef's tip: chill the fruit and glasses well beforehand and squeeze a little lime over the fruit so it stays bright.

15 min

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Salpicón de frutas

Salpicón is what Caleños grab at fruit stands and in the parks of San Antonio when the afternoon heat sets in: a tall cup of tiny, jewel-like cubes of papaya, pineapple, mango, banana and apple, swimming in freshly blended watermelon juice, eaten with a spoon and drunk to the last drop. Some stalls top it up with a fizzy orange or lemon soda; this version keeps it to fresh juice. It is sweet, cool and very refreshing. The mistake people make is cutting the fruit too big; the joy is in tiny cubes you can drink through the juice. Chef's tip: blend and strain the watermelon just before serving and keep everything ice cold; watermelon juice loses its fresh taste within an hour.

15 min

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Maduro con queso

Cali cooks treat a black-skinned plantain as a treat rather than a fruit past its best, and maduro con queso shows why. The plantain bakes in its own skin until the flesh turns sticky and caramel-sweet, then it is split lengthways and packed with soft white cheese that melts into the hot fruit. In the Valle del Cauca it turns up at home lunches beside rice, beans and a sudado, and at weekend corrientazo counters as the sweet note on a savoury plate. The cheese of choice is a mild, stretchy quesillo or queso campesino, both normally set with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian mozzarella-style cheese if that matters to you. Where it goes wrong is the plantain: a yellow one with a few spots stays starchy and dry, so wait until the skin is almost completely black and the fruit gives when pressed. Chef's tip: bake the plantains on a tray lined with baking paper, because the sugars leak out of the skins and burn onto bare metal.

40 min

Colombian Sides

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Mote de queso

Few dishes say Colombian savanna country like a pot of mote de queso. Families in Montería, Sincelejo and the towns around them make it for Sunday lunch and during Holy Week, when meat is off the table: white yam is boiled until it collapses into a thick, almost creamy broth, seasoned with a fry of onion and garlic, and finished with cubes of salty queso costeño and a squeeze of lime. It is eaten with plain white rice, sliced avocado and a fried ripe plantain on the side. Outside Colombia, a firm feta-style or halloumi-style cheese stands in for queso costeño; both are often set with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) one. The trap most cooks fall into is adding the cheese too early, so it dissolves into strings and the soup turns gluey and over-salted. Chef's tip: wear gloves or oil your hands when peeling the yam, because the raw juice can make skin itch.

60 min

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Bollo limpio

Before most of Barranquilla has opened its shutters, the bollo sellers are out with baskets of husk-wrapped corn logs. Bollo limpio is the plainest of them: white corn, soaked, cooked, ground and kneaded with nothing but salt, then tied in husks and boiled until firm. The result is dense and slightly springy, with a clean, sweet corn taste and a faint grassiness from the husks. It is torn open at breakfast and eaten with a slab of salty cheese and a spoon of suero costeño, or alongside fried fish and stews at lunch; this version itself is vegan. Plan ahead: the dried corn needs soaking overnight. If the dough is too dry, the bollos crack and turn crumbly, so knead in water until it feels like soft modelling clay. Chef's tip: if you cannot grind dried corn, 1 kg of ready-made unflavoured white corn masa from a Latin shop gives a close result; skip straight to the kneading.

180 min

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Brevas con arequipe

Bogotá's old sweet shops and the dessert counters of Cundinamarca sell brevas caladas, firm green figs cooked for hours in panela syrup until they turn dark, glossy and tender, then split and filled with arequipe. A slice of salty fresh cheese alongside balances all that sugar. They are a classic Christmas and Sunday treat and keep for a week in the fridge, so make them ahead. Use hard, unripe green figs from Middle Eastern or Latin shops; ripe figs fall apart. Arequipe is Colombian milk caramel, the same as dulce de leche. The fresh cheese is usually animal-rennet, so pick a vegetarian one. Skipping the first boils is the common error: the figs keep a bitter, milky sap that spoils the syrup. Chef's tip: cook the syrup slowly and keep the figs just covered; a hard boil splits the skins.

180 min

Colombian Breakfast & Brunch

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Migas de arepa

Nothing goes to waste in a paisa kitchen. Yesterday's arepas are torn into rough pieces and fried in a pan of hogao, the slow tomato and spring onion sauce of Antioquia, then folded through with soft scrambled eggs. It is a weekday breakfast across Medellín and the coffee towns, served with a cup of hot chocolate or a strong coffee, and it takes about as long as making toast. The texture should be part crisp, part soft, coated in eggy tomato. Most people stir it too much, which turns the arepa to mush; fry it first and let it crisp before the eggs go in. Use plain white-corn arepas, homemade or bought. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat while the eggs still look a touch wet; they finish in the residual warmth and stay creamy.

20 min

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Tinto

Ask for a tinto anywhere in Colombia and you get a small cup of black coffee, never red wine. Street vendors carry it in thermos flasks through the plazas of Manizales, Pereira and Bogotá, and offices, bus stations and farm kitchens in the coffee region brew pots of it all day. It is light, hot and gently sweet, often made by simmering ground coffee with water and a little panela, then straining it through a cloth bag. The usual error is boiling the coffee hard, which makes it harsh and bitter; let it come to the boil only once. Chef's tip: let the grounds settle for a minute off the heat before straining, so the cup stays clear.

10 min

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Aborrajados

Cali's bakeries and Sunday food stalls by the Pance river sell aborrajados all day: thick slices of very ripe plantain, fried soft, pressed around a slab of white cheese, sometimes with guava paste, then coated in a light batter and fried again until golden. The result is sweet, salty and gooey, a snack you eat with your hands alongside a glass of lulada or champús. Choose plantains with skins almost completely black; yellow ones are too starchy and never get sweet. Queso blanco or campesino is often set with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian mozzarella or similar. The usual mistake is batter that is too thick, giving a heavy, bready shell; it should coat like thin pancake batter. Chef's tip: chill the stuffed plantain parcels for 10 minutes before battering; they hold together much better in the oil.

40 min

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Pan de yuca

Cali bakeries sell pandeyucas warm in paper bags from early morning, often in a horseshoe shape, to go with a glass of kumis yoghurt drink or a café con leche. Made only from cassava starch, cheese, egg and a little butter, they are gluten free, puff up in the oven and stay hollow and stretchy inside with a thin crisp skin. Unlike pandebono, there is no corn flour, so they are lighter and chewier. Use tapioca (cassava) starch, sold in Asian and Latin shops; the cheese is typically a salty queso costeño made with animal rennet, so mix a vegetarian feta-style cheese with vegetarian mozzarella. Dough that is too wet makes them spread flat; it should feel like soft play dough. Chef's tip: they are at their best within 30 minutes of baking, so shape them ahead and bake just before eating.

38 min

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Empanadas de añejo

Pasto cafés and street stalls fry empanadas de añejo all morning, and the name gives away the secret: añejo means aged, and the corn dough is left to sour slightly before shaping. That gentle fermentation gives a light, crackly shell with a faint tang that sets them apart from the empanadas of the rest of Colombia. The filling here is the meat-free version Nariño cooks also make, potato stewed with spring onion and achiote and mixed with fresh cheese, and they go to the table with a peanut ají and a coffee. Plan for 24 hours of fermenting. Queso fresco is usually set with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) cheese if needed. Thick dough is the misstep that makes them heavy and greasy; press it thin enough to see light through. Chef's tip: ferment in a cool spot (no warmer than 22 °C), covered, for no more than 24 hours, then chill the dough until you shape it.

110 min

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Arroz clavado

From Quibdó and the river towns of the Chocó comes a rice dish built on coconut, where cubes of white cheese are pushed into the pot near the end and left to melt into sticky, golden pockets; clavado means nailed in. The coconut milk, ideally pressed from freshly grated coconut, gives the rice a creamy, gently sweet base, and the Pacific herbs of the azotea, the raised kitchen garden, add a sharp green note. It is a weekday lunch at home, eaten with fried plantain, avocado or alongside fried fish for those who eat it. White cheese in Colombia is usually set with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) halloumi or mozzarella-style cheese if needed. Stirring after the cheese goes in is the slip that turns it to mush, so poke the cheese into the rice and then leave the lid on. Chef's tip: culantro (long-leaf coriander) from Asian or Caribbean shops is close to the Chocó herbs; use ordinary coriander stems if not.

40 min

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Jugo de borojó

Borojó is the pride of the Chocó: a heavy brown fruit with a dense, sticky pulp and a sour, almost tamarind-like flavour. In Quibdó it is sold as pulp at the market and blended into thick shakes at juice stalls, and it carries a folk reputation as a restorative, sometimes jokingly called juice of love. Blended with cold milk and sugar it becomes creamy, tangy and filling, more a small meal than a drink. Outside Colombia, look for frozen borojó pulp in Latin American shops; there is no real substitute, though a mix of tamarind paste and banana gives a rough idea. Using too much pulp is easy to do, and the shake turns into a paste that will not go through a straw, so start with the amount below and thicken to taste. Chef's tip: blend the pulp with a little milk first to loosen it, then add the rest; borojó is so dense it can stall a blender.

10 min

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Pan de arroz

Coffee in Arauca or Casanare rarely comes alone: there is usually a basket of pan de arroz, small golden rings made from rice flour and grated salty cheese, sold at roadside stalls, bakeries and village fiestas across the plains. They bake crisp on the outside and soft, slightly chewy and cheesy within, a cousin of pandebono but lighter and more crumbly. Eat them warm with a cup of tinto or hot chocolate in the afternoon. The cheese on the plains is queso llanero, a firm, salty farm cheese; mix feta-style cheese with a little mozzarella if you cannot find it, and as both are usually made with animal rennet, choose vegetarian (microbial-rennet) ones. The mistake that causes trouble is coarse, lumpy cheese, which makes the dough crack as you shape it; crumble or grate it very finely. Chef's tip: rest the dough for 10 minutes before shaping so the rice flour hydrates and the rings close without splitting.

50 min

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Bollo de yuca

Along the Caribbean coast from Cartagena to Santa Marta, the bollo de yuca is a staple to set beside fried fish, a bowl of soup or a slice of fresh white cheese. Raw cassava is grated, kneaded with a little salt and sometimes a few anise seeds, then wrapped and boiled until it turns translucent and pleasantly chewy, with a mild, slightly sweet flavour. Market sellers stack them by the dozen, and they keep well, so many households buy enough for several days. Cassava must always be fully cooked and peeled down past the pink inner layer, since the raw root contains natural toxins that cooking removes. Squeezing the grated cassava too hard is the error that ruins it: bone-dry dough gives tough, rubbery bollos, so you only want to press out the loose juice. Frozen grated cassava from Latin or African shops works well. Chef's tip: wet your hands before rolling the logs, because the starch sticks to dry palms.

90 min

Colombian Breakfast & Brunch

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Cayeye

Ask anyone from Santa Marta or Ciénaga what they ate growing up and cayeye will come up quickly. Unripe green bananas, the small cooking kind rather than plantains, are boiled and mashed with butter and grated salty cheese into a soft, slightly sticky purée, then topped with hogao, the tomato and spring onion sauce of Colombian kitchens. Breakfast is its moment, often with a fried egg or a slice of fried cheese and a strong black coffee, and it is filling enough to last until lunch. The cheese on the coast is queso costeño; a firm feta-style cheese works, and since both are usually set with animal rennet, look for a vegetarian microbial-rennet version. Mashing the bananas once they have cooled is the misstep to avoid, because they set into a gluey lump; mash them straight from the pot with a splash of the hot cooking water. Chef's tip: rub your hands with oil before peeling green bananas, as the sap stains skin and boards.

35 min

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Enyucado

Bakeries and street vendors in Cartagena, Barranquilla and Montería sell enyucado by the square, wrapped in paper, as an afternoon sweet with coffee. It is a dense, moist cassava cake held together by coconut milk, sweetened with sugar, scented with aniseed and given a salty edge by grated white cheese; the top bakes to a golden, slightly chewy crust while the middle stays soft and pudding-like. It is also a fixture at birthday and holiday tables along the coast. Queso costeño is the cheese used; a firm feta-style one is the nearest swap, and as both are usually set with animal rennet, choose a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) cheese. People most often go wrong by cutting it warm: the starch needs at least an hour to set, otherwise the slices are gummy and fall apart. Frozen grated cassava from Latin or African shops saves a lot of work. Chef's tip: squeeze the grated cassava lightly so the cake sets well but stays moist.

75 min

Colombian Chutneys & Dips

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Suero costeño

Market stalls in Montería, Sincelejo and Valledupar sell suero costeño from big tubs, ladled into bags: a sour, salty, spoonable cream that goes onto bollos, arepas, boiled cassava, fried plantain and mote de queso. Traditionally it comes from raw milk left to sour in the heat. This home version keeps the flavour but uses pasteurised cream and milk with live yogurt as a starter, which is far safer. Plan for 12–24 hours of fermenting plus chilling. Hygiene matters: wash the jar and spoon in hot soapy water and scald them with boiling water, never use raw milk, and keep the jar at room temperature (20–25 °C, out of direct sun) for no more than 24 hours before it goes into the fridge. Throw it out if you see mould, pink or orange patches, or it smells putrid rather than pleasantly sour. Leaving it out too long is the big mistake: it goes bitter and separates. Chef's tip: salt only after fermenting, as salt slows the cultures.

15 min

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Raspao

On a hot Barranquilla afternoon, the raspao cart is the fastest way to cool down. The vendor scrapes a block of ice with a metal plane, packs the snow into a cup and floods it with bright syrups: kola, tamarind, lime, blackberry. Many add a ribbon of condensed milk on top, but this version stays vegan and lets the fruit carry it. Children love it, and it is a fun one to make at home with a blender and a jug of syrup. The usual misstep is pouring warm syrup over the ice, which melts it to slush in seconds, so chill the syrup completely first. Make the syrup a day ahead if you like; it keeps a week in the fridge. Chef's tip: freeze water in a shallow tray, then blitz the slab in pieces with a few pulses for fluffier, snow-like ice than ice cubes give.

20 min

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Chontaduro

Street vendors in Cali, Buenaventura and Tumaco push carts piled with bright orange and red chontaduro, peeled to order and sprinkled with salt, then drizzled with honey. The fruit of the peach palm, it has a dense, floury flesh somewhere between roasted chestnut, squash and boiled egg yolk, and a savoury-sweet flavour that people from the Pacific coast swear by as an energy food. At home, the fruit must be cooked, as raw peach palm is unpleasant and irritating to the throat. Fresh fruit appears in Latin American shops in season; frozen or jarred cooked chontaduro is easier to find and only needs warming. Undercooking is the common slip: the flesh stays fibrous and scratchy, so keep boiling until it crumbles easily. This is vegetarian but not vegan because of the honey; panela syrup is a vegan swap. Chef's tip: cut the fruit in half and remove the stone before salting, so the seasoning reaches the warm flesh.

65 min

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Mango biche

Paper and plastic cones of mango biche are sold from street carts in Cali, Barranquilla and Bogotá, especially around schools, parks and bus stops. Biche means unripe: the mango is still hard and pale green inside, so it is crunchy and mouth-puckeringly sour, and the vendor cuts it into long strips and shakes on salt, lime and black pepper, sometimes a pinch of chilli. It is a refreshing, almost savoury snack, eaten in the afternoon heat. Choosing a mango that has started to ripen is the slip that spoils it: the flesh should be firm and white-green with no yellow, or it turns soft and sweet. Look for green mangoes in Asian and Latin shops. Chef's tip: chill the mango for 30 minutes before cutting; the strips stay crisp and the salt and lime cling better.

10 min

Colombian Breakfast & Brunch

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Calentado

Calentado literally means reheated, and that is the whole idea: the rice and beans left from yesterday's lunch are fried together in a hot pan with hogao until they catch and crisp at the edges. In Antioquia it is the breakfast of champions, topped with a runny fried egg and served with a corn arepa, a slice of white cheese and hot chocolate, and city cafés across Colombia now put it on weekend menus. This version is meat-free, using beans cooked without pork. Leftover rice needs care: it must have been cooled within an hour or two of cooking and kept in the fridge no more than a day, and it should be reheated until piping hot all through. Stirring constantly is what turns it to mush, so press it into the pan and let a crust form before turning. Chef's tip: add a few spoonfuls of the bean broth; it binds the rice and helps the crispy bits form.

20 min

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Cuchuco de trigo

Up on the cold Boyacá plateau, around Tunja and Duitama, cuchuco de trigo is the soup that roadside restaurants ladle out at midday to farm workers and truck drivers. It is made with pork ribs (espinazo or costilla de cerdo), simmered until the meat slips off the bone, then thickened with cracked wheat, broad beans, peas, cabbage and two kinds of potato. The result is closer to a porridge-soup than a broth: nutty from the wheat, porky, a little smoky from the cumin and achiote, with the small yellow potatoes melting into the liquid. Serve it in deep bowls with avocado slices, a spoon of ají and a piece of arepa. The usual mistake is adding the wheat too early and walking away: it settles and catches on the bottom of the pot, so it needs stirring from the base every few minutes. Chef's tip: rinse the cracked wheat until the water runs nearly clear; washing off the loose flour keeps the soup creamy rather than gluey. For a meat-free pot, leave out the ribs, use vegetable stock and double the broad beans.

125 min

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Cocido boyacense

Sunday markets in Villa de Leyva, Paipa and Sogamoso still have families sitting down to cocido boyacense, a pot in which chicken, pork ribs and beef steam slowly on a bed of cabbage leaves above the tubers of the high Andes: potatoes, cubios, ibias and chuguas, with cobs of corn and broad beans still in their pods. There is very little water; the meat juices drip down and flavour everything. It is tipped onto one big platter in the middle of the table, and the concentrated broth left in the pot is drunk from cups alongside. Expect clean, earthy flavours rather than spice: cumin, garlic and spring onion, and a bowl of ají or hogao for anyone who wants heat. The classic slip is too much liquid, which turns it into a boiled stew; keep the water to a few centimetres and the lid tight. Chef's tip: if you can't find ibias or cubios, use oca from a Latin or Andean grocer or a mix of small new potatoes and parsnip, which bring a similar sweet, earthy note.

125 min

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Puchero santafereño

Old Santa Fe de Bogotá kept puchero for big family lunches and holidays: a broad pot of beef, pork and chicken boiled with cassava, corn, potatoes, cabbage and, unusually, ripe plantain cooked in its skin, which turns soft and sweet against the savoury meat. It comes to the table in two acts. First the clear, golden broth in cups or small bowls; then a platter of the meats and vegetables, with a pan of warm hogao (tomato and spring onion sauce) spooned over everything, plus rice and avocado on the side. People confuse it with cocido or sancocho, but the plantain and the hogao make it its own thing. Most disappointing pucheros come from boiling hard: the broth goes cloudy and the cassava breaks up, so keep it at a lazy simmer. Chef's tip: add the vegetables in order of how long they take, and lift each batch out onto a warm tray as it becomes tender, so nothing turns to mush while the beef finishes.

165 min

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Fritanga

Weekend fritanga is Bogotá's answer to a mixed grill, eaten standing at counters in the Siete de Agosto and Restrepo neighbourhoods or brought home on a big tray to share. Everything is pork or fried: chicharrón of pork belly with a blistered, crunchy skin, juicy pork chorizos, slices of rice-filled morcilla (blood sausage), little papa criolla potatoes, sweet plantain and griddled arepas, all eaten with fingers or toothpicks and dipped in sharp, watery ají. A fritanga is about contrast, so don't drown it in sauces: the lime and ají cut the richness. The common error is frying the belly straight from raw; it needs to cook gently in water first, which renders the fat and tenderises the meat before the skin crisps in its own drippings. Chef's tip: buy morcilla and chorizo from a Latin butcher and check the labels if you need the platter gluten free, as some sausages contain wheat.

100 min

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Tamal tolimense

Ibagué and the towns of Tolima make the most generous tamal in Colombia, and on Sunday mornings it is unwrapped at the table with hot chocolate, a slab of bread or arepa and a cup of black coffee. Inside the double banana-leaf wrapping sits a soft, achiote-tinted corn dough layered with rice, yellow peas, carrot, potato, a hard-boiled egg and chunks of pork rib, pork belly and chicken that cook through during the long steam. Expect a savoury, moist parcel that smells of the leaves; plus overnight soaking for the dried peas and marinating the meat. It is weekend project food, best made with friends on a production line. A frequent failure is a loose wrap: water gets in and the dough turns soggy, so fold tightly and tie firmly in a cross. Chef's tip: steam a test tamal first or check one after 3 hours; the meat inside must be cooked through, and if the dough still sticks to the leaf, give the batch 20 minutes more.

320 min

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Lechona

Christmas, birthdays and town fiestas across Tolima and Bogotá call for lechona: a whole pig, boned, stuffed with its own meat, yellow peas and, in the Bogotá style, rice, then roasted for hours in a wood or brick oven until the skin turns to a glassy crackling. Purists in Ibagué leave the rice out. Few home kitchens fit a pig, so this oven version builds the same thing in a deep roasting tin: cubes of pork shoulder seasoned with spring onion, garlic and cumin, mixed with peas and part-cooked rice, under a blanket of skin-on pork belly. The filling soaks up the dripping pork fat; the top crackles. Serve with insulsos (plain sweet corn tamales) or arepas and lime. Start a day ahead to marinate the meat and dry the skin, plus overnight soaking for the peas. Most failed crackling comes from wet skin, so dry it uncovered in the fridge and salt it well. Chef's tip: score the belly skin closely with a very sharp blade but don't cut into the meat, or the juices bubble up and soften the crust.

330 min

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Changua

Changua is the breakfast soup of Bogotá and the high plains of Cundinamarca and Boyacá, where cold mornings call for something hot before work. Milk and water are simmered with spring onion, eggs are poached right in the pot, and the bowls get fresh coriander and pieces of stale bread or calado (dried toasted bread) that soften in the broth. It is gentle, creamy and filling. Chef's tip: keep the milk at a bare simmer; if it boils hard it can catch on the bottom and the eggs break apart.

15 min

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Pandebono

Pandebono is the warm cheese bread of the Valle del Cauca, the region around Cali, eaten for breakfast or as an afternoon snack (onces) with hot chocolate or a coffee. It looks like Brazilian pão de queijo but tastes different: the dough is cassava starch and a little precooked cornmeal kneaded with lots of crumbly fresh cheese, with no milk or cooking, so the rings bake up with a slightly crisp skin and a soft, stretchy, tangy middle. Chef's tip: shape them into rings or balls and bake them straight away; the dough dries out if it sits.

35 min

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Sancocho de verduras

Sancocho is the big Sunday soup Colombian families cook outdoors on riverbanks and fincas (country houses), with every region from Antioquia to the Valle having its own version. This vegetarian sancocho keeps the essentials: green plantain broken by hand, cassava, potatoes and corn on the cob simmered in a broth seasoned with spring onion, garlic, cumin and plenty of coriander, until the starches thicken it. Serve each bowl with white rice, avocado and lime on the side. Chef's tip: break the plantain into pieces with your hands rather than cutting it; the rough edges release starch and thicken the broth.

60 min

Colombian Chutneys & Dips

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Frijoles antioqueños

In Medellín and across Antioquia, red cargamanto beans simmered for hours are the heart of the bandeja paisa and of everyday lunch. The beans cook with grated green plantain and carrot, which melt in and thicken the pot, and are finished with hogao, the tomato and spring onion sauce. This version leaves out the pork hock and gets its depth from a long simmer and a smoky pinch of paprika. Serve with white rice, avocado and an arepa. Chef's tip: grate the plantain on the fine side of the grater; it dissolves into the beans and makes them creamy.

120 min

Colombian Curries

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Hogao

Hogao (or guiso) is the base and topping of Colombian home cooking, from Antioquia to Cali: ripe tomatoes and long spring onions (cebolla larga) cooked slowly in oil with garlic and cumin until soft and jammy. It is spooned over patacones, arepas, boiled potatoes and yuca, stirred into beans and rice, and served in a little bowl at the table. Chef's tip: cook it low and slow; a fast, hot hogao tastes raw and sharp, while a patient one turns sweet.

20 min

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Arroz con coco

Along Colombia's Caribbean coast, in Cartagena and Santa Marta, arroz con coco is the rice served with fried fish and patacones; it pairs just as well with beans, fried plantain and salad. The dark version, arroz con coco titoté, comes from cooking coconut milk down until the oil separates and the solids fry into brown, toasty flecks (titoté), then adding the rice with a little sugar and raisins. The result is nutty, sweet-savoury and light brown. Chef's tip: be patient with the titoté; it only tastes right once the bits are deep brown, but take it off the moment they turn the colour of coffee or it will be bitter.

45 min

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Empanadas colombianas

Colombian empanadas are small, crunchy half-moons made with yellow corn dough rather than wheat, sold hot from street stands across Bogotá, Medellín and Cali and eaten with a squeeze of lime and a spoonful of ají. The classic filling mixes potato with hogao and often meat; this version keeps the potato and hogao, seasoned with cumin and coriander, which many families make on its own anyway. They are crisp outside and soft and savoury inside. Chef's tip: roll the dough thin, about 3 mm; thick corn dough stays heavy and absorbs oil.

75 min

Colombian Chutneys & Dips

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Ají picante

Every Colombian table has a bowl of ají, the loose, fresh hot sauce spooned onto empanadas, patacones, sancocho and arepas. Unlike a thick salsa, it is thin and bright: chopped hot chilli, spring onion, tomato and lots of coriander in lime juice, vinegar and water. Each family, from Bogotá to the Pacific coast, swears by its own heat level. Chef's tip: make it at least 30 minutes before eating; the onion softens and the chilli heat spreads through the liquid.

10 min

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Buñuelos colombianos

In December, Colombian families gather for the novena de aguinaldos, nine evenings of prayers and carols before Christmas, and the reward afterwards is a plate of hot buñuelos with a bowl of natilla. These little golden balls are made from crumbly cheese, cassava starch and cornflour, fried until they puff and roll themselves over in the oil. They are crisp outside, airy and cheesy inside. Chef's tip: start the oil only warm, around 150 °C; buñuelos fried too hot crack open and stay raw in the centre.

35 min

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Natilla colombiana

Natilla is the firm, sliceable Christmas pudding of Colombia, stirred on the night of the alumbrado (7 December) and through the novenas, and always shared with buñuelos. Milk is infused with cinnamon, sweetened with panela (unrefined cane sugar), thickened with cornflour and finished with grated coconut and raisins, then poured into a dish to set. It is dark gold, caramel-scented and soft, a bit like a firm flan. Chef's tip: stir without stopping once the cornflour goes in, scraping the corners of the pan, or lumps and a scorched bottom will form.

40 min

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Obleas con arequipe

Obleas are the giant, paper-thin round wafers sold from street carts in Bogotá's parks and around Floridablanca in Santander, where they began. The vendor spreads two wafers with arequipe, Colombia's dulce de leche, and adds whatever you choose: blackberry jam, grated cheese, condensed milk or sprinkles, then presses them together. They are crisp, sticky and fun to make with children. Look for oblea wafers in Latin American shops. Chef's tip: assemble them right before eating; the wafers soften within an hour.

10 min

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Lulada

Lulada is the drink of Cali and the Valle del Cauca, sold in tall glasses from street stalls and juice shops on hot afternoons. Lulo (naranjilla) is a small orange fruit with a green, sour, citrus-like pulp; for lulada it is chopped and crushed by hand rather than blended, then mixed with lime, sugar, cold water and ice, so you drink it with a spoon as much as a straw. Look for frozen lulo pulp or whole fruit in Latin American shops. Chef's tip: crush the lulo with a fork or muddler; blending smashes the seeds and makes the drink bitter.

10 min

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Aguapanela

Aguapanela is simply panela (unrefined cane sugar) dissolved in water, yet it is one of Colombia's most loved drinks: drunk hot at breakfast in Bogotá and the Andes with a slice of fresh cheese dropped in to melt, given to children with a cold, and served iced with lime in the hot lowlands. This page is the hot version; the cold, lime-heavy cousin is Venezuela's papelón con limón. Chef's tip: simmer the panela gently until it dissolves completely and the drink smells of caramel; rushing it leaves sugary lumps at the bottom.

12 min